The Wedding
by johnlocketed
Summary: Johnlock - With only a few days to go, the preparations for John and Mary's wedding are in full swing, but while best man Sherlock is trying to teach the groom to dance they both experience feelings that are both concerning and are believed to be one-sided. These feelings are then exaggerated with Sherlock's discovered personal involvement in their latest trafficking case.
1. 6 days to go

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

The sunlight creeping in through the curtains woke a sleeping John Watson a few minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. Looking over at the clock and realising this, he closed his eyes again momentarily so he could savour the blissful part of the morning, where he could lie in a daze, and let the world wash over him. He had his arm wrapped securely around Mary's waist, holding her tightly to him, allowing himself to breath in their bedrooms morning scent, as she turned to face him and kiss his cheek softly, sleep still present in her eyes, as her eyelashes stuck slightly together. He felt like the luckiest man alive, his best friend was not dead, but in a surprising turn of events had agreed to be the best man at his wedding, to the beautiful woman who was now resting her head on his chest. John definitely had his cake and was being allowed to eat it. He thought with only a six days to go his feet would be beginning to get cold, at least that was what he was told would happen, but his feet being very warm is what confirmed to him that Mary was the perfect woman for him. He knew he only had one perfect moment of the morning left, before he had to get out from under the duvet and into the crisp morning air. Wanting to savour the moment, he closed his eyes and just listened to the sound of their breath, and the sound of their hearts beating in sync. John started to run his hand through her short hair and the across her forehead, causing her to stir once more. "Morning" it was the first word said of the day and John happened to think it was much better than any alarm clock, and as if by magic with that very thought, the alarm went off, causing him to chuckle before kissing Mary on the cheek and rushing out of bed. He had somewhere to be.

John was whistling to himself as he walked back into his and Mary's bedroom, to see Mary laughing at him. "What is it?" John asked. She was beaming as she approached with a cup of tea in hand, she kissed him on his nose and he handed her a steaming mug. "It's just lovely to see you so happy, that's all." Kissing her softly on the lips, he picked her up his spare arm and spun her round to move her out of his way, causing her to laugh some more. "What's got into you?" Mary chuckled. He was trying to drink his tea, while getting changed. He kept looking over at the clock, he was running late, oh well Sherlock was never one that was too meticulous about timing. "Well I'm marrying a beautiful woman and my arsehole of a best friend is not dead" and then with a final sip of his tea he picked up his keys and started to head towards the door. "Do you want breakfast?" John shook his head, "I'll eat with Sherlock, at least then I will know he has eaten something." Then with one final wave, he was out of the door and on his way to 221B.

John arrived two minutes after he was supposed to arrive, he was greeted by a smiling Mrs Hudson who he conversed with briefly before bounding up the stairs to greet a sulking Sherlock. "What's wrong?" he sighed as he walked in, trust Sherlock to bring his mood down, "bored" Sherlock stated without even glancing up at John. He made his way into the kitchen and started to riffle round the cupboards looking for something he could make for them for breakfast, "but I thought you had a case. You seemed happy yesterday." He could hear Sherlock sighing from the living room, "it was too predictable, and the mistress did it, worked it out in seconds. Lestrade is refusing to give me a decent case. Something about me getting too involved, and it gets in the way of the wedding." Finding some bread and jam that appeared safe to eat, John placed the bread in the toaster, waiting for Sherlock to finish his rant before he even thought about speaking. "Which is ridiculous, I'd solve it way before the wedding." John was smiling to himself, he still was not quite used to having Sherlock back and just hearing him rant about something so normal, normal for Sherlock anyway, managed to lift his mood again. The toast popped out of the toaster and while he was waiting for his to be done, he started to prepare Sherlock's. On cue, Sherlock walked in and slumped down onto a breakfast barstool. "I don't know why you insist on making me breakfast, when you know I'm not hungry", but he pulled the plate of toast towards him and started to pick at it like a small child. Knowing it was the best he was going to get John did not comment, instead he sat down next to the detective and started to eat his own. For a moment he felt like nothing had changed, that he was back living in 221B.

After collecting their suits for the big day, the two companions headed back to 221B, so Sherlock could give John one of his final dance lessons. It was no surprise to John that Sherlock was a good dancer; he had the right frame for it. However, his patients when it came to teaching John would have surprised everyone. He broke down the movements, to quite a simple dance, slowly making sure John would not look like a complete idiot on his wedding day. Before they started, like every other time, he told Sherlock to not tell anyone about this, "people talk already" and Sherlock, as always, dismissed this fact as if it was not important. However, he also always agreed, while searching through his I-pod, to the recorded version of the wedding song that he had composed and planned to play live at the wedding. John was surprised that Sherlock wanted to do it, but having heard Sherlock play the violin several times, when they had being working on cases, he was more than willing to let Sherlock play, and he was not disappointed. The song was heartbreakingly beautiful, it was if he had managed to play love itself, as that is all you felt when you heard it. Placing his hand on Sherlock's hip bone, Sherlock wrapped his wiry fingers around John's good shoulder. Moving a step in so they were closer together, they started to move in time with the music, and at first Sherlock was counting out the steps , but a few seconds in John hushed him so he could be absorbed by the music filling the flat, allowing his body perform the steps that he now knew so well. So there they were, waltzing around 221B, and before John knew it he was resting his head on Sherlock's chest. He was not sure why he did it, but once he did, he couldn't pull away. He felt so blissfully happy within this moment, and as he was not really doing anything wrong, after all Sherlock had not pulled away, If anything, he appeared to have relaxed more. They did not even realise the music had stopped until Sherlock's phone could be heard ringing from his bedroom. It was with that ring that John really realised what he was doing. Pulling away, he ran his hand over the back of his neck. Sherlock left the room, without uttering a word, he walked straight into his room to grab his phone, and John trying to be helpful went over to the I-pod to restart the track, but when the I-pod lit up he saw the compositions title for the first time, 'For John'.

_Sherlock closed the door behind him, and ignoring his phone, he sunk to a crouching position his head resting in his hands. He could feel his pulse racing, how could such a simple and harmless act have such an effect on him. Of course, it helped that John was the cause of such harmless act, and part of him was so glad he was aloud __that one moment in his life to imagine that John was his. However, reminding himself again, that John would never be his. He knew it would never return to the way it was, and it was not that he did not__ like Mary. He wanted to hate her like all the others, but he couldn't, everyone could see she was perfect for __John__, everything he wanted, but that was not going to make the wedding any easier, especially now, more than ever he just wanted the wretched day to be over. At least then, he would not have to teach John to waltz to a song that he wrote for him in his two-year absence. Why did he agree to do this? No sooner did he ask himself the question that the answer came to his mind. Any moment he has to spend alone with John he would not pass up, no matter how painful. Sherlock's pulse was beginning to regulate, he could feel himself begin to calm, the initial shock and immediate reaction had passed. He raised his head to look around the_ _room._

_He was just over thinking. His mind, as usual , was working at a level that was miles above everyone else's. John probably never considered what resting his head could imply; to everyone else that type of affection is perfectly normal__. It is obviously only freaks like him that looked further into those sort of actions, he was just not used to that sort of contact, because if it meant something that was not platonic__,__ John would not have done it. John was in a relationship, he was straight, he would never love Sherlock that way. He was getting married in a weeks' time, Sherlock was the best man, he was just simply fulfilling his duties as a best man. __At least he thought he was, he had never been in this situation before. _

_His phone would not stop ringing, and the noise was beginning to really irritate him. Knowing that he not sit on the balls of his feet all day, after all John would begin to wonder what he was doing. He got up to retrieve his phone from the other end of the room. He was planning to just dismiss the call; there is nobody that he wanted to talk to at this moment in time. However, for some reason he looked at the caller ID and because of that he answered the phone. "__Lestrade, this case__ better be good considering it will affect the planning of John's wedding." The sarcasm was evident in his voice, as he repeated the words Lestrade uttered to him less than twenty-four hours ago. He hoped his usual sarcasm would appear like irritation with mundane wedding plans and the lack of a case. Nobody else knew what him and John were doing, no one did, not that it was wrong, but John had insisted, _"even now people talk too much"_, Sherlock knew John spoke the truth, but he did not care if people talked. He was used to people speaking about him; people were stupid__, __they always made judgements about things they did not understand. However, he would not do anything to displease John if he did not have to. __"Sherlock, yes we need your help and no unfortunately this can't wait, so can you remind me that you're always right later." __Sherlock couldn't help but smile to himself, the police force's incompetence never failed to amuse him, and he felt extremely grateful for the case. "I'll send you reminders on the taxi ride there, send me the address" and with that Sherlock hung up and braced himself before walking back into the living room. _

John was sitting in his armchair when he heard Sherlock re-enter the room. He could tell by his step that he was in a better mood; there was a different sort of urgency to his movements, like he was excited not anxious. John did not know if he should turn to look as he entered, he still was not sure how he felt about the naming of the track, despite it being a logical name to call a track for his first dance, and knowing how Sherlock's mind worked that is probably all it was. Though the nagging feeling in his gut, that it meant something else would not go away, and he always trusted his gut instinct, it is the difference between a good army doctor and a great one. The real worry, though, came from the sinking feeling in his stomach, when he thought that maybe it was nothing more than a convenient label. He told himself he would not look as Sherlock entered the room, but he could not help himself the man had such a presence that no one could take their eyes off him. "I'm guessing the phone call was better than expected." Sherlock was already adjusting his scarf, "the game is on, Dr Watson." He was already nearly out of the door, when John had a chance to register the situation, "Greg promised!" but despite his anger at Greg, he followed Sherlock willingly, a smile on his face, it had been a long time since they had played this game, and truth be told he had missed it.


	2. 5 days to go

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

The silver take away container remained untouched resting on the floor next to the sofa that John suspected Sherlock had been lying on since he left him there the previous night. He sighed as he bent down to clean away the cold Chinese food. "Is there a point in buying you food?" John rolled his eyes, but he was not really irritated and he suspected the detective was not really paying him any attention. John decided to reheat the noodles inside the container, in the vain hope that Sherlock might eat some left over Chinese food for breakfast. He was messing around in the kitchen serving them both a portion, when Sherlock spoke up, "there's no time for food John, so I hope you can eat on the go." John heard the sofa creak as Sherlock gracefully stood up, but ignoring Sherlock's attempt to leave, he walked in carrying two plates, while ushering for him to sit back down. "As nobody's life is in danger, you can eat something first" Sherlock exhaled loudly but he did sink back into his seat and take the plate, "I don't know why you care" despite Sherlock muttering his sulky comment under his breath, John still heard him, but he didn't bother to reply. In fact, he pretended he had not heard the comment. Instead, he watched Sherlock eating. He used to try to disguise his glances, they were originally small checks to make sure Sherlock was eating and not disposing the food elsewhere, but within two weeks of living together Sherlock mentioned it, so now he just openly watched. It usually got him a few sarcastic looks, and possibly a snide comment, but it also got Sherlock to eat when he was in his agitated state; and therefore John was willing to put up with some awkwardness if it meant Sherlock would eat.

Sherlock had his coat on before John had finished his last mouthful, and therefore he was still chewing when he followed the detective out on to the street, and into a cab. John felt curiosity brim underneath his skin, and so when Sherlock told the driver the address of an old dockland along the Thames, John had to ask what Sherlock had worked out by staring at the ceiling all night. "Sherlock..." The detective would not even glance over, he was lost in his own thoughts, staring at the passing scenery, but John could tell on this rare occasion he was not observing. He was too lost in his own thoughts, to observe what they were passing. John was going to attempt to ask about their chosen location, but then he thought better of it; interrupting Sherlock when he was like this was a dangerous act. So instead, he looked out onto the winding London streets, trying to not just look at what they were passing, but to notice, to see the world in the unique way Sherlock did. The way that never failed to impress him even after all these years, even on the night the arsehole appeared after two years, and all he wanted to do was tear the man apart, he was still extremely impressed with how quickly the man had managed to assess the situation. As John's mind wandered back to the years when he believed Sherlock was dead, his hand drifted closed towards Sherlock's. He could feel the heat of the man's hand, a current of electricity seemed to surge through him as their fingers briefly connected. Luckily Sherlock was still oblivious, so he pulled his hand away before it lingered for too long and therefore avoiding conversations he did not want to have. To distract himself he started to click his knuckles, a habit he had acquired recently. Straight away Sherlock snapped out of his daze, and with one glance thrown his way John realised he should have chosen a different distraction technique.

_ John clicking his knuckles was an unwanted distraction from a daydream he was really beginning to enjoy, and elaboration on the dancing lesson they shared yesterday. Apart from in Sherlock's fantasy he was not teaching John his wedding dance he would be sharing with someone else, it was just a dance. A dance were they did not have to feel guilty about John resting his head on his shoulder, but instead Sherlock could lift his head and kiss the lips of the man he had been in love with from the day he walked into the lab at barts; and it was that man's knuckles that made him realise again that it was all just wishful thinking. Then again, he did feel John rest his hand upon his for a moment, but he decided not to mention it. Even though everyone thought he was an insensitive bastard, he did really try to respect John's feelings, as they were more important than his work. He was worried this would become self evident when he agreed to be the best man, something that people surely saw was causing him distress, he was watching origami youtube videos, and collecting information that he should delete immediately. Information that was trivial, but he was worried that John would need it on the day, so it stayed stored. This thought must have made his glance towards John harsher than attended, and it regrettably caused John to look away, however, it did allow him to look at John for a bit longer than usual, to savour one of the last moments of it being the two of them. While John apparently remained oblivious to what Sherlock was feeling. _

_The taxi slowed down to turn and drive down a narrow side road, which reminded Sherlock of the job at hand. "You can stop here, we will walk the rest." Then before the driver had a chance to stop properly, he had opened the door, handing the fare over the seat. Walking out onto the street, he called out behind him without actually glancing over his shoulder, "John keep up", though his comment was rather redundant, as he could tell by the sound of John's footsteps that he was not far behind. As the adrenaline began to pump through his veins, he began to smile, because for just one moment he could pretend it was just him and John against the rest of the world, just the way he liked it. The sun was still high in the sky, so he was not expecting to find who he was looking for, but he was hoping the isolation of the area would allow him to examine it properly, without the disturbance of civilians. He felt the excitement within him causing him to speed up. John was still clueless about why they were in their current location, and therefore was not aware of the opening onto the dockyard that caused Sherlock to stop suddenly and crouch down; causing them both to nearly fall over as John lost his balance. The detective started to examine the ground underneath them, looking for a gap, and moving slightly to allow the army doctor to stumble to the side of him and not over him. Though now thinking about it, it could have been the preferable outcome, but he banished that thought from his mind quickly, before it had a chance to develop. Otherwise anything he would gain from looking at the scene would be wasted, there was no way he would be able to store any information gained, with those thoughts circulating through his mind he would be lucky if he could stay balanced on the balls of his feet as he crouched down. _

It did not take long for Sherlock to inspect the scene before the; and therefore John did not have long to watch Sherlock work. He would have helped out, but as there was no body to inspect and as he had no idea where they were, let alone what they were looking for, he concluded he would be of no use to Sherlock at the moment. He decided to stay silent instead, at least that is what he thought he was doing, until Sherlock started 'shhhing' him. "I wasn't even spea-" but Sherlock just waved his hand, which was Sherlock's attempt at being polite, while also telling him to shut-up. Despite knowing that he was silent before hand, he made more of an effort to not distract Sherlock, he just watched him walk slowly across the gravel to one of the shipping containers. It was when Sherlock stopped at the door, and pressed his ear against it that John felt under his jacket for his gun. "Sherlock – " he waved his hand dismissively again, but John ignored him "Sherlock, what's –" "-Shut-up John. Shut-up and come over here." Knowing better than to ask again, John did what he was told, and as the gravel crunched underneath his shoes and as he pushed his ear against the metal door he began to hear a soft mummer come from within. "Sherlock is that – " this time it was just a look that told him he should be quiet, but he needed to know what was going on despite Sherlock's objections. So grabbing him by his shirt, he pulled him away from the door, and then holding his face close to his, and pushing thoughts of the fantasy he used to have about a similar moment, he finally asked, "Sherlock, what the fuck is going on here?" Surprisingly Sherlock did not try to wriggle out of John's grip, "well John, if you haven't already worked out I believe there is a young man in that container." His sarcastic tone of voice was enough to make the urge to kiss him completely disappear, and to be quickly replaced with the urge to punch him. This is why he chose Mary; it was only ever the urges to be affectionate towards her. There were no extreme moments of passion, but she never annoyed by her so much that he could grip his hands around her throat and squeeze until the life left her in front of him. No, Mary was safe, she was good for him, and she was what he needed.

Sherlock had managed to wriggle out of John's grip while he was lost in thought and was back against the door. "Why are you still listening? You know he is in there." Without seeing his face he could tell that he was rolling his eyes, and then with a hiss "I know he is in there, but I am trying to distinguish if there is someone in there with him" and with that he was silent again, listening intently through the door. "John, get your gun out" and without even checking to see if he had obeyed, he started to turn the handle and open the door. Well at least he tried to, but for some reason it would not budge, and John getting impatient put the gun back behind his belt and try to help him turn it. With the extra force, it turned easily, so easily that the shock in the sudden movement caused the men to stumble. Regaining his balance Sherlock began to turn the handle with ease, while John resumed holding his gun, aiming it towards the container. However, once Sherlock got the door open, John lowered his gun instantly. The disturbing sight that greeted him was clearly written across his face, as Sherlock hesitantly moved around the door to see what was inside the crate. Though judging by the smell that greeted them instantly, he must have started to theorise before he looked. Before them lay a boy, about nineteen years old, with long brown unkempt hair and a skinny frame, with sharp facial features, the slight resemblance to Sherlock was apparent but that was the least surprising thing about him. The boy was currently lying in a pool of his own sick, sweat and waste; with needles scattered near him. He had rope around his ankles and wrists, restricting his movement completely, with tape around his mouth to prevent him from making any noise that anyone other than Sherlock would have noticed; and all John could do was stare at him. He was too stunned to do anything productive, so he just stared down at the adolescent who was looking up at them both while trying to block his eyes from the intrusive sun's rays. Natural light was clearly not something he had seen in a while. The three of them stared at each other, until Sherlock made the first move and bent down to the boy's level. The detective moved his hand over to the rope, but as he did the boy flinched as Sherlock slowly moved towards him; and even though the movement was slight and limited due to his restrictions, Sherlock quickly changed his attention to the tape, pulling it away from his mouth, before quickly retracting. Leaving the boy looking both terrified and confused, and only relaxing slightly as Sherlock moved away, and for the first time John saw Sherlock trying to be considerate towards a victim, when surely all he wanted to do was question him.

_Sherlock recognised the boy immediately. He did not know him personally, but he knew his condition all too well, especially when he noticed the disregarded needle in the corner. "John call Lestrade." He did not hear any movement, so he turned to face John for the first time since he had opened the door. He noticed to his surprise, that despite everything John had seen, he was still in state of shock. The detective then going again his better instincts, walked back towards the crate so he could place his hand on John's right shoulder, and uttered his order again, which to his relief John responded to and walked off slowly to call the inspector, while still looking back at Sherlock and the boy over his shoulder. Then instead of doing what he wanted to do, he crouched back down and rested near the boy while watching him, trying to understand his shock at finding him behind the crate door. Sherlock knew he should have suspected this is what he would find when they turned up; it was similar to places he had been to in his youth, and therefore should have known better. Still at least he could attempt to help this boy in the same way Lestrade had helped him, because the truth is he would have never chosen to start take heroin. The addiction he developed did not originate from his own choices. He hated the fact that he had a substance dependency, something that affected his intellect and therefore his being. No, he never choose to inject the stuff, he just let people think he did because it was so much easier than explaining the truth. _

_Sherlock just sat crossed legged near the opening of the container, he wanted to help him more, but if he got the boy out where would Sherlock place him, or how would he clean him up, or help him in any way. No, he would just wait until Lestrade got there, Lestrade would know what to do. He was good in these situations. Still he wanted to provide some comfort, to let him know that Sherlock knew how he felt. He was about to reach out and touch his forehead, wipe his hair away, just to show him some form of affection, but then he sensed John behind him. "Sherlock, maybe you should move away. He probably isn't enjoying being stared at." Without replying, he got up and for the second time and moved away, keeping his back to the boy. He didn't think he could sit and look for much longer anyway. He wanted to, he wanted to sit there and explain to him what was going on, he felt like it was something he needed to do; but then John gave him an easier option and like a coward he took it. He walked back to the alleyway they originally walked through, and waited for the police to arrive. _

John knew something was wrong when Sherlock followed orders without complaining, or when he stood in the alleyway resting his head against the wall, obediently waiting for the police to arrive before doing anything. He was not sure if he should say something to him, but then were would he start, Sherlock had never been the sort of person that would discuss his emotions, and thinking about it, neither had John. So instead, he just stood with him, listening for the sound of sirens. It did not take them long to get there, and Lestrade rushed over to Sherlock straight away. "Are you okay?" Sherlock did not look like he was going to answer, so John did, "We're both fine it's him that needs your help." He gestured over to the boy behind them, but Greg did not shift his gaze until Sherlock nodded. "Are you sure it's –" this time Sherlock did speak, "- I didn't check his hip, but I know." With that, Greg told him to text his brother, before ushering the officers to follow him over to the boy. John saw Sherlock get his phone out of his pocket in the corner of his eye, "what are you doing?" Without hesitation he replied, "texting Mycroft" and it was at that point that John knew he needed to ask. "Sherlock what's wrong?" The detective tried to smile as he responded, "don't worry John, it's nothing." "Nothing? Since when did you follow police orders and ask for your brother's help?" He just rolled his eyes and walked towards Lestrade. There was defiantly something wrong, and despite Sherlock's weak attempt to reassure, John could not stop himself from worrying.


	3. 4 days to go

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

Sherlock was sitting in his scarf and coat, obviously waiting for John; as he did not get a chance to remove the key from the lock before Sherlock bounced up onto his feet and in a few long strides walk over to the door. This resulted in John having to shift his head slightly to the right, so it did not end up colliding with the detective's chest. "Turn around John, we're in a rush." After yesterday's events, John did not question Sherlock he just followed obediently; pausing briefly to lock the door, before rushing down the stairs and onto the streets of London, which appeared to be waking from its slumber after a rather eventful night. However, john's night had not been particularly eventful, but it had been filled with irritation. He spent the evening pondering over questions that nobody would answer during the day. Instead he just stood there, while they all exchanged knowing looks, he felt like a child in the school playground, the only child that did not the secret. Everyone was walking on egg shells, avoiding the elephant in the room, an elephant that was invisible to John but he could still sense its presence. Even Anderson did not argue with Sherlock, it felt unnatural, and now, even though he knew he would not get an honest answer, he did not want to let this go. "Sherlock, slow down. What is the rush?" The detective started to hail down a black cab before he answered. "The case needs to be solved before this Saturday, or did you forget about that Dr Watson?" John was about to ask about what was happening on Saturday, but then he remembered he was getting married. He blamed the shock of seeing a male teenager lying in his own excrement in a storage crate as the cause of his memory lapse. Sherlock asked the driver to take them to the police station and John was getting increasingly worried, this was the second day in a row where Sherlock appeared to follow the orders of the police.

_Sherlock jumped out of the taxi, and ran straight through the doors of the police station. Lestrade said that he was needed, that the boy needed him, so there he was. He arrived the DI's office find his brother sitting on an armchair in the corner; and though his presence did not surprise him, the smile plastered on his face did. The one time his brother decided to follow social conventions, and smile at the emotionally vulnerable; and it made Sherlock feel awful. Though the snide comment to follow, resumed the feeling of normality for a moment, "on time little brother, what a surprise." He raised his eyebrow slightly and it was then that Sherlock appreciated what he was trying to do. However, he could hear John approaching so he needed to address his problem quickly, "No I am not telling John." It was at that moment that John entered, Sherlock noted his surprise at seeing Mycroft but obviously decided to not make a comment, so Sherlock continued speaking, "what am I needed for?" After a few glances were exchanged and Lestrade had worked out how he wanted to phrase his next statement he spoke up, "he won't speak to anyone and we need to..." Lestrade was looking straight at him, and Sherlock new instantly what they wanted him to do, and judging by John's laughter he realised too. "Sherlock ... you thought Sherlock, with his world famous people skills ..." He was cut off mid sentence due to everyone's bizarre glances, and despite still clearly thinking it was weird he let it go. "I'm going in alone." Lestrade nodded before leading him out of the room, John went to follow but Sherlock shook his head. "Wait here John, I don't want you to see this" and then with that he left his brother and the army doctor, shutting the door behind him._

John could feel the anger boiling inside of him, all of the secrecy was beginning to drive him insane. He thought Sherlock trusted him, but obviously it was one sided, maybe he did not trust anyone completely, but for some reason John always thought their relationship was different. John placed his fists on Lestrade's desk, trying to calm himself down, obviously, something was wrong, and Sherlock must have his reasons for not saying, but the last time Sherlock had kept secrets John was left mourning him for two years. He was so lost in his own faults that he forgot Mycroft was still in the room, and therefore when he spoke up the army doctor nearly jumped out of his skin, "you know he is doing this to protect you, Dr Watson." John knew what Mycroft was trying to do, it was a cheap trick but the reassurance was nice. He was about to say something, try to convince Mycroft that he knew that, that his annoyance was about something else, but luckily his phone started vibrating in his pocket. It was Mary, "darling is everything ok?" he smiled, Mary had such a calming effect on him, she made him feel in control, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" It was once he uttered the sentence that his memory came back, "the suits. I'm sorry darling. I forgot, I've been distracted. I know I said I would not engage with a case, not this close to the wedding, but this is important." He paused for breath for a moment, "I promise I'll collect them when we're done." He did not know why he forgot, he was going to pick them up on the way to the station, he was thinking about it as he turned the key in the lock at 221B, but something about seeing Sherlock's face made him not mention it. He knew that Sherlock was not in the right frame of mind to deal with wedding stuff, so he left it alone. "You don't have to worry about it, the shop called so I collected them." He went to apologise again but she carried on speaking after only a slight hesitation, "it's okay John, the world needs Holmes and Watson at the moment." He could feel himself smile as she said it, "I love you John", "I know" and with that Mary hung up. He only then realised how he replied, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, she knew he loved her. He placed the phone back in his pocket, before turning to face a smiling Mycroft. He looked like he had overheard something extremely amusing, maybe he had, sentiment never seemed to fail to amuse the Holmes brothers, and John was about to make a comment when he heard a very angry Sherlock, "There has got to be another way to do this!" He edged closer to the door, "I know you are not comfortable with this –" "- not comfortable Lestrade!" There was a pause, as if they were both contemplating, "I'll do it, just stop looking at me like that!" John's hand was now resting on the door handle, and with Sherlock's last statement he had swung the door open and started to run down the corridor, with Mycroft screaming stop after him; but he did not care how desperate the situation is, he was not going to let Sherlock be forced into doing something, especially when he was alone.

_ Sherlock left Lestrade on one side of the mirror and walked into the interrogation room where a young teenage boy sat hunched in the seat furthest from the door. His gaze was fixed on his feet, only jerking his head up slightly when he heard Sherlock shut the door as he entered. The detective for the second time in his life was lost for words. He knew there was nothing that could make this situation better, so instead, he wrapped his fingers around the zip on his flies and pulled it down slightly, this caught the adolescents attention quickly. His whole body stiffened and he snapped upright, his eyes now wide fixed on Sherlock's hands. "Don't worry it's not what you think." He kept his distance from the boy, as he turned down the top of his trousers to reveal his hips, or more importantly the triangle tattoo upon them. The detective stood still as the young boy approached and ran his finger over the tattoo while looking him in the eye. Sherlock nodded in response, and then for the first time since they found him, the boy relaxed; "Eric" and just as Sherlock was about to offer his name back, John burst through the door, screaming it for him. _

_ Sherlock wanted to tell to John to stop to say he got the wrong idea, but his hands were still wrapped around the waistband of his trousers, and he assumed he looked extremely uncomfortable. Therefore, he could understand how John came to that conclusion, especially as Eric's hands were still holding his hip; though luckily they were covering his tattoo. "Sherlock, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do." Sherlock could hear Lestrade calling John's name, telling him he had the wrong idea, but John was ignoring him, instead he had moved closer to them both. Eric edged away slightly, but he did tighten the grip on Sherlock's hip. Which then caught John's attention, Sherlock knew that both men had misread the situation, but for some reason he could not speak up to correct them. John had placed his hand on Sherlock's, and the detective knew it was an attempt to comfort him, to get him to pull his trousers back over his hip, but Eric did not interpret it this way, and punched John square in the jaw. The sound of the fist colliding with the jaw is what brought Sherlock back into focus, and quickly zipping his flies, he pushed John away from Eric. "Sit down for a minute Eric." He looked dubious to let Sherlock go, "I'll be fine, I just have to talk to John" he tried to smile quickly at him, and then without waiting for his instructions to be followed, he dragged John out of the door by his wrists. _

_As he entered the room, he called out to Lestrade, his tone harsher than intended."Lestrade give us a minute" but as the Inspector rose from his chair in a way of protest, Sherlock spoke up again "go and tell my brother he'd make a shit baby sitter, and while you're at it make sure no one comes in. I've been humiliated enough for one day" and it was with the last statement Lestrade left. It was only when the door was shut that Sherlock realised his fingers were wrapped around John's wrist, and even though his grip had loosened, he could feel the irregular rhythm of John's pulse. He looked John in the eye for the moment, trying to locate the cause of the irregularity, when the moment became awkward; causing him to drop his wrist instantly. Shifting his gaze away slightly, he spoke to John for the first time since he left Lestrade's office, "are you ok?" John shook his head in disbelief, "am I ok? Sherlock what the fuck is going on? Because if you don't tell me soon I swear to God –" but, as Sherlock sank into the chair the inspector was originally occupying, he interrupted the doctor "-where would you like me to start?" _

John wanted to comfort Sherlock throughout this conversation, he felt like it might be easier if it was had while he held Sherlock in his arms, but for some reason he was rooted to the spot; and on second thoughts he wasn't sure if contact would have helped the situation. Realising that Sherlock's question was not rhetorical, and that an answer was expected of him, he asked the first question that came to mind. "What were you doing in there with ..." he had forgotten the boy's name, or maybe he just hadn't taken it in, he was slightly distracted by the whole situation. "...Eric. I was showing him my tattoo." At first, he thought Sherlock was being sarcastic, he looked over expecting him to be rolling his eyes, but seeing the detective sitting there straight faced, trying to look him in the eye but struggling to do so; altered his opinion instantly. Sherlock must have thought that John didn't believe him, as he started to place his hands on his flies again. Part of John felt like he should stop him, reassure him that he trusted him and if that is what Sherlock said he was doing, then that is what he was doing; but the other part of him wanted to see, and for some reason that is the part he let win the internal battle. Sherlock this time moved them down in one swift movement, before slowly turning down the waistline of his jeans to reveal his tattoo for the second time today. Trying to remove his eyes from his best friends stunning hipbones, "... and you decided to show your tattoo to Eric because..?" He could tell Sherlock was getting frustrated with him, he must have thought the tattoo would have been enough, "because he has the same tattoo." He said it as if it was meant to make John understand, as if it was now completely obvious, but it was not, his mind was still blank. Well that was not completely true, he was beginning to understand what this all meant, but he was praying that he was wrong, "I once belonged to the same man, that Eric does now. Now if you don't mind" and with that blunt announcement, he pulled the zip up on his trousers and headed to the door that connected them to the interview room.

_ Sherlock needed to get way from John; he did not want to see the disgust in the man's eyes, or to sense the pity; for him to join the group that walked on egg shells around him. John, however, had a very different idea. Just as Sherlock's had touched the door handle, John's hand wrapped round his wrist. "No you do not leave it like that Sherlock." He could sense the anger in John's voice and he no longer wanted to be present anymore, he wanted to black out or go back on the drugs, or be anywhere but that room, but John pulled on his arm, and he no longer had the strength to resist. "John I don't want to discuss this, not right now, maybe never" but John just ignored him, "Sherlock I saw what condition HE was left in –" "-Eric, was left in." John just shook his head, "stop trying to change the subject, his name doesn't matter right now-" "-yes. It. Does. His name always matters! He is a person John, not an object. HE IS NOT A FUCKING OBJECT!" and with that he pulled his hand out of John's grip and marched straight into the interview room, not looking back. _

_ Eric looked up as he heard the door open again, "Sherlock is everything ok?" Sherlock through some miracle, managed to put his guard back up and nod his head, "why wouldn't I be?" He pulled a chair up next to the opposite side of the table and sat down. "I thought I heard shouting" Sherlock ignored his comment. "Eric, are you ok? Have they..?" Eric smirked, "yes they have been very accommodating. Offering me food and drink, allowing me to wash the shit off my body and change my clothes. Explaining how they understand what I am going through, asking if there is anything they can do to help me. While they smother me with their pity, while they try to hide their disgust at the drug addicted prostitute." Sherlock let him finish his rant, as a small smirk formed on his face, it all sounded so familiar. "well they try, I remember Lestrade being quite helpful, at least he didn't show any signs of disgust." He paused to smile at Eric once more, and then he leaned in towards him to help emphasise his next statement, "and judging by what I have learnt about him these past few years, he doesn't hide emotion very well." For some reason he felt extremely comfortable around Eric, it was refreshing to have someone to associate with on some level. "Is Lestrade the male in charge?" Sherlock nodded, "yeah, he was relatively pleasant." They sat for a moment in silence, before Eric spoke up again "ask what they wanted you to ask? I want this to be over quickly as you do."_

John stood staring at the space where Sherlock had just vacated. He had never seen Sherlock have an emotional breakdown, the closest he had ever got was ... and with that thought he left the room. He had no urge to think about that moment again, never again. He was marching down the corridor, when he saw Mycroft and Lestrade sitting together in deep conversation, and so wanting to vent his frustration at someone, he burst through the office door. "You two knew, you both knew and you knew what it would do to him and yet you still made him do it. He said he didn't want to." Lestrade looked uncomfortable but Mycroft was cool as a cucumber, "John, calm down" but he felt like he would never be calm again, at this moment he was struggling to not to punch that smirk off Mycroft's face, "calm down. Your brother is the closest to I have ever seen him to showing any real emotion, and all you can say is calm down." Still not dinting his armour Mycroft replied to his rant, while Lestrade stayed silent in the corner, "taking down a trafficking network is more important than a few wounds being metaphorically open." Realising he was not going to get anywhere with the tin man that was Mycroft Holmes. "And you're ok with this Greg, are the crimes more important than the people to you now. I thought you cared about Sherlock but maybe you just fake that so you can use his genius." Greg looked him in the eye for the first time since he had walked into the room, "I'm sorry we kept you out of this John, but I don't fake or hide any of the emotions I feel towards Sherlock Holmes, unlike some people I know" and for some reason that hit a nerve. "What is that supposed to mean?" "You know exactly what he means John, and don't start on Lestrade if it wasn't for him Sherlock would not be here." John was surprised by this, maybe the tin man did have a heart.

_ Once finished with Eric, Sherlock left very quickly, he text Lestrade that he would email him the broader information, while texting him the immediate stuff. He was not in the mood to see anyone right now. He just needed to get outside, he was feeling claustrophobic, like he couldn't breathe. It wasn't until he passed Lestarde's office that he realised he had being lying to himself, he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and let John hold him, take care of him, but as that was going to happen he wanted to be alone. After all being alone protected him. He knew they must have seen him pass, especially when John started to call out to him, follow him, but he did not turn round. He was not going home though, he had a different destination in mind tonight. He needed to stop thinking, to calm down, and sitting alone in an empty flat was not going to do that._

John followed for as long as he could, he kept running and calling out to Sherlock, not caring about everybody that was staring at him, if people were not talking before they were going to talk now, but he no longer cared. He was going to keep chasing this man and screaming his lungs off until the detective stopped, but that man was fast and he was out of shape, so Sherlock, despite John's determination managed to ditch him. When Sherlock was out of sight, how unfit he had become finally hit him, and he became aware of the small podge that was now forming, a podge that was always present when he was in a long-term relationship. Hailing a cab over, giving 221B as his destination, he called Mary from the back seat of the car, explaining that Sherlock had gone missing and he probably would not be home tonight, being the sweet person she is she offered to come out and help search, but John told her it would be pointless. He felt bad at how understanding she was, how much she cared. Mrs Hudson let him in, and insisted that he come in for a cup of tea. He tried to explain what was happening to Sherlock, he tried to avoid the explicit details, but of course Mrs Hudson knew more than him, but just as she was about to explain everything John decided he did not want to know, not like this, it felt wrong. Sherlock had the right to keep this a secret and if he did not want John to know, he would not pry. So John excused himself and went up to their old flat, kicking off his shoes he lay out on the sofa and watched rubbish TV until he fell asleep, clutching his phone to his chest and wrapped in a blanket that faintly smelt of Sherlock Holmes.


	4. 3 days to go

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

John woke up with a pain in his neck, probably caused by the awkward position he fell asleep in. Rubbing his neck, he tried to wake himself out of his sleepy daze, all the while wondering how Sherlock regularly slept like this and it was that thought that made him sit bolt upright. He swung his legs round and leaned over for his phone, which was now resting screen down on the floor. It probably fell off during the night. Unlocking it quickly he noticed he had quite a few missed calls, none from Sherlock. He did surprisingly got one message from Sherlock. Though it was as ambiguous as ever, 'don't worry John, I'm fine. Just last minute wedding errands, I won't let you down again. SH' John was irritated with the lies, but at least the text was proof that he was still alive, alleviating the worry in the pit of his stomach slightly. He climbed off the sofa, whipping the remaining sleep out of his eyes, while walking over to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, when he heard the door open, and ran straight out into the living room to see a dishevelled detective fall onto the sofa, imprinted with his worried friend's body.

"Sherlock, where the fuck have you been?!" The noise startled the detective, he obviously did not expect John to be there, or realise John had been there the whole night. "John, were you here the whole night?" His uninterested tone annoyed John, not that that appeared to be Sherlock's intention. "Yes Sherlock, I was here the whole night. I was worried! After what happened yesterday-" "-I said I was not willing to discuss that John." With that, the detective closed his eyes and rested his head on the armrest. John decided to leave it for a moment, and instead went to the kitchen to complete his original task, instead this time he got out an extra mug before boiling the kettle. Once the tea was ready, he placed one on the floor next to the sofa before sitting in his armchair with his.

The men sat in silence. The occasional slurp of tea and the passing noise of forming traffic filled the flat with some noise, just enough to stop the situation from feeling awkward. Sherlock began to shift awkwardly on the sofa, he was trying to reach for his cup of tea, but for some reason was refusing to turn onto his side and just pick the cup up. He continued his squirming for about a minute before he gave up and resumed lying still. However, now his face was pulled into a tight grimace, and he was holding in his breath; as if letting it out would cause him to cry out in pain. So placing his mug on the side he moved over to Sherlock, "Were did you hurt yourself?" Sherlock didn't even bother to open his eyes, "I'm fine John. Stop watching me like I am a child." He could feel the anger boiling away in his stomach again, "If you stopped behaving like a petulant child, maybe I could stop treating you like one." He perched himself down on the edge of the sofa, resting by the man's legs. "Now where did you hurt yourself?" Sherlock trying to spring up into a sitting position, he was trying to prove he was fine, but half way through lifting himself, he had to grab onto John for support as he finally let out a cry of pain.

"This is ridiculous Sherlock ..." while talking he had placed his hand on Sherlock's hip, to help support him, but was stopped by the sticky warm substance that was seeping through Sherlock's crinkled white shirt. He stopped speaking and looked down at the red patch that was beginning to form. "Sherlock what did you do?" All of the anger that had been boiling away had now evaporated. The detective didn't say anything, his head remained in the crook of the doctors neck, while he tried to steady his breathing. "Can you walk?" John tried to lift him to his feet, "we need to get you to a hospital." It was this comment that got Sherlock to pull away, he shook his head, "they'll ask questions ... I don't want to answer." Under John's hand, the patch of blood was rapidly growing, this wound was still open, and judging by the amount of blood it was deep. Knowing that Sherlock was a stubborn bastard, even if he was a great deal of pain, he decided to not argue with him. Therefore, he settled for the next best option, his own skill and whatever medical equipment he could find in the flat. "Will you let me treat it?" Sherlock let out a sigh, but as the detective did not directly refuse, John took that as a yes, and for a second time tried to lift Sherlock to his feet.

_Sherlock allowed John to half guide, half carry him to his old room. He felt himself being lowered onto the doctor's old bed, before being left for a moment. He could hear John rattling around in the drawers, "I'm sure I left a first aid kit in here..." He could hear John rooting through the drawers rather franticly. He tried to help out, managed to speak up through gritted truth, "It's in the bathroom." He was not sure if John left because he heard him, or just decided on his own to search another room, but either way he was left alone. The room still smelt faintly of John, he had not been in here since he moved back to Baker Street. At the time, he wanted the room to be untouched, so his memories of John remained untouched, no longer effected by his stupid actions; but now the musky smell of John was calming him down. John entered the room again carrying an old and dusty first aid kit and a bottle of whisky. _

_He felt the bottle being pushed into his hand, encouraging him to take a sip before they started. Sherlock for the third time in three days followed instructions, it was beginning to become an annoying habit that he would have to nip in the bud quickly. "Would you prefer to remove your own shirt..?" He shook his head, he no longer was prepared to speak, once you are allowed to feel pain, the pain appears to be so much worse. Sherlock lay there while Dr Watson switched completely to doctor mode, he slowly removed each button from its catch, before peeling the shirt away from the blood and the sweet, with a steady hand. He could then feel John slowly remove the top of his trousers, rolling them down so he could examine the full extent of the wound. It was the hesitation in his movement, that caused the detective to open his eyes, that had previously closed through the pain. "Sherlock what did you do?" John's eyes met Sherlock's as he spoke, but the gaze was not filled with pity, just concern, John Watson had the strange skill that made Sherlock feel cared for. "Well I tried to burn it first, but that wasn't as effective as I originally hoped, so I cut it off." His tone of voice became factual as he spoke, he knew what John was implying by what appeared to be a rhetorical question, but he decided to answer to avoid the emotional implications. It wasn't until John began to softly touch the outside of the wound, that he whispered the truth, "I didn't want it to be a part of me anymore." He wasn't sure if John heard him. _

John did hear him; and again it gave him an over whelming urge to kiss Sherlock. Not like his usual urges where he wanted to push Sherlock up against a wall and kiss him until they could no longer breath, instead he wanted to softly caress his lips. He wanted to provide Sherlock with a kiss that was so tender that it would force him to feel loved, feel safe, feel free from judgement. Ignoring these thoughts was becoming a talent of his. He kept his focus on the detectives injury and pretended he did not hear the comment, that this was purely another patient, and not a man he was slowly beginning to realise he had fallen in love with years ago. A realisation that was normally filled with joy but there was the problem that the man was a self-confessed sociopath who was married to his work; and then there was the problem of the wedding. No the wedding was not a problem he was happy to be marrying Mary, that situation made sense; it was not complicated or filled with worry. He knew he would never have to clean up self-inflicted wounds of Mary, she was not damaged, she would take care of him, and that is what he wanted. At least that is what he told himself.

He made Sherlock drink another shot of whisky before pouring some other the open wound to clean it, if Sherlock was not willing to go to the hospital then his treatment then John was going to have to improvise. His thoughts were still distant as he began to unravel the remaining piece of bandage from the first aid box. He knew his previous thoughts were excuses, excuses he was making with himself, to convince himself that marrying Mary was the right thing. Yes, Sherlock's wounds were physically self-inflicted, but really the cuts were from the others surrounding him, and they were wounds that John wanted to spend his whole life fixing. Yes, Sherlock was damaged, but his damage just proved his resilience, and explained his past, a past that made him the way he is, perfect in Johns eyes. No the real reason he was marrying Mary, it was sensible. Mary would provide him with the life he always thought he wanted, and there was no point chasing unrequited love, not at his age. He would settle for Mary, so his friendship with Sherlock would remain the same. He really did not deserve Mary. "You need to raise your hips." Sherlock obeyed his command, and as he began to wrap up Sherlock's wound, which thankfully was not as deep as first perceived, and though it would leave and awful scar Sherlock did not need any serious medical attention. He pulled Sherlock's trousers the full way up, and placed some pressure upon them, so the detective knew he could resume lying down. Dr Watson gave Sherlock some pain killers, that he allowed him to wash down with more whisky before leaving him to get some rest; and while he ignored his want to climb into bed and hold Sherlock in his arms while he slept, he quietly left the room and called his fiancé. Something he should have done the minute Sherlock returned.

_ Sherlock was woken by the painkillers wearing off, allowing him to feel the burning throb that was now his hip. Making himself crawl out of bed, he headed towards a living room, that was now empty, he found a piece of paper with John's hand writing on it. He explained how he had gone home, and would see him again tomorrow. Sherlock was left with the instruction to call him if he needed him, but he knew this was just John being nice. John might be Sherlock's doctor, but he would never be his. He was Mary's now, and with that revelation hitting him properly for the first time, he realised he no longer cared about reserving John's old bedroom, John would never need it again. He threw the letter back onto the table, and found his I-pod that still had John's song playing on repeat. He must have not turned it off. Collecting it from the table, and plugging in his headphones, he crawled back into John's old room, and climbed underneath the covers this time. Pulling them up over his head so the remains of the doctor's smell engulfed him, he played the track at the highest volume possible. Surrounding himself with John the best he could, before pulling his knees to his chest, like he used to as a child. He finally let out all the pain he had repressed his whole adult life. He cried until he became a hollowed shell, and his physical pain could no longer keep his exhaustion at bay. He fell asleep once more. _


	5. 2 days to go

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

The next morning, when John arrived at 221B, another one of Sherlock's strange experiment, which was being carried out on the kitchen table, greeted him. "Morning John" Sherlock spoke without averting his eyes from his microscope. John was slightly surprised with Sherlock's behaviour, even more so when he casually looked over at him. "So are you ready for your last lesson. I'm not sure you need it, but then it is better to be prepared, and I would not be a very good best man, if I did not prepare you properly." He smiled over at him, before removing his goggles and walking towards the i-pod dock. John managed to pull himself out of his engulfing state of surprise, just before the detective hit play, "is everything ok Sherlock?" He carried on to fiddle with the I-pod as he spoke, "why wouldn't it be. Do you want to take off your coat before we begin" and so John not knowing what to do, did as he was told; and they had a dance lesson, as if nothing had happened. As if John had not spent the whole of the night, feeling guilty and Sherlock had not spent the whole night crying. They started to waltz around the room together, the music and the steps blurring into one, as their movements became something so familiar, that it had become second nature. However, this time John did not rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Everything felt different, so much had changed in such a small amount of time, and a few days more would change still. The song played a few times on repeat before they both simultaneously pulled away.

They stood awkwardly for a moment; neither man really knew where to look. John could sense that Sherlock was getting restless, "Sherlock if there is somewhere you need to be..." "I promised Lestrade that I would be in later today, but if there is something else you need sorted I can tell him he'll have to wait..." John shook his head, "no it's fine you go, do you want me to come with you?" It was then Sherlock's turn to shake his head, "I'll call you if I need you."

_Sherlock left the flat in a rush, he had no urge to get to the station quickly but he had experienced and awkwardness with John that he had never experienced before. Therefore, to his disappointment he arrived early, and was made to wait in Lestrade's office, he did have Eric to keep him company however. They sat for a moment exchanging a few pleasantries, before Eric asked the question that ended their short conversation, "So how is your boyfriend coping with it all?" Sherlock curtly interrupted him before Eric could say anything else, "He's not my boyfriend." He hoped this would stop Eric, but no, "I'm sorry, I just thought ... I hope it was nothing I did –" "-his getting married this Saturday." Sherlock did not know if it was the tone in his voice, or his pained expression that got Eric to stop talking about it, but whatever it was, he was grateful. That sat in silence for a few minutes before Lestrade opened the door and walked in. "We think we've found him." He waved away Sherlock's intended interruption "Mycroft has been looking for years, and it was your final discovery that helped him piece a few things together." Sherlock was stunned, his brother said he would never stop looking all those years ago, but Sherlock never took him seriously; but then all these years later Mycroft found him, just like he said he would. "When are we going then?" Sherlock was already on his feet, wanting to arrest this bastard, but Lestrade had other ideas, "well I didn't know if you two would want to go." Sherlock wondered why he would even think that, there was nothing that was going to keep Sherlock from going, but then he turned to look Eric; who was now pale white and throwing up in a waste paper basket. "I'm going with you, but I think Eric wants to stay behind." Eric looked up for a moment to nod his head in agreement, before resuming his position over the bin._

_ In the office, Sherlock had judged Eric slightly, for being weak. He could not understand how he would not want to see the bastard that had caused all their pain, finally be punished, but then Mycroft's car started to pull away from the station and for once in his life he thought he had made a stupid decision. He wanted nothing more than to jump out of the moving car, throw up and then run in the opposite direction. Instead, he clung to the door handle, until his knuckles turned white. He could sense his brother was staring at him. "Sherlock, you can stay in the car if you wish." In his own way, he guessed Mycroft was trying to be helpful, but he was just making Sherlock make him feel like a child, and as the car slowed down along the curb he had to throw the door open to make sure he got out. Forcing some vomit back down his throat, he pulled his coat closer around himself trying to make himself feel less exposed. Lestrade and Mycroft waited for him as he steadied himself and then slowly placing one foot in front of the other, followed them both. Focusing purely on his feet and not what was going to happen when he followed the men through the door. _

_ The smoke and dark lighting brought him back to his adolescent years, he heard Mycroft paying the door attendant off as they entered. He could smell the tobacco in the air, giving him a real urge to smoke. He rubbed his fingers over his nicotine patch, picking at the corners slightly. He could hear the occasional groan and pant, but it was a relatively quiet part of the day, though Sherlock was sure that it would pick up as the day progressed. He wanted to play with the seams of his scarf, like he did when he was a child, but he placed both hands firmly in his pocket in attempt to hide his blatantly obvious discomfort. Lestrde looked around at the young boys draped on the floor, clearly concerned by the age of the boys; they appeared to be younger than Sherlock remembered. Mycroft, however walked past each individual, not glancing down at any of them, his eyes where fixed on the door ahead. He held his cane high off the floor, tucking it under his arm, as he took strides with an elegance that only the Holmes boys possessed. Sherlock's eyes darted around the hallway, and though he wanted to help Lestrade with the boys, but the deep resonating laugh coming from underneath the door paralysed him to the spot. _

John tried to busy himself in the flat for as long as possible, cleaning some of Sherlock's mess away, drinking various cups of tea, reading the paper he brought with him, but nothing could distract his mind from wandering to what Sherlock was doing. Therefore, despite what Sherlock had said, after waiting for just an hour, he grabbed his jacket and headed down to the police station. On arrival he bumped into Donnovan, catching her just before she fell to the floor. After apologising, and collecting their stuff from the floor, they greeted each other. "Hi John, if you're looking for the f-, Sherlock. He left about an hour ago with his brother and Lestrade." The Dr could feel his stomach tightening; it was weird that Sherlock did not text him; if they were going off to work on a case then John should be there with him. He wasn't even married yet and life was already changing, Sherlock had replaced him. His only worry was that Sherlock was going to place himself in danger and the replacement did not save him in time. "Do you know where they went?" She wrote him the address down on a scrap piece of paper, and it was only as he left that he realised she had stopped herself from calling him a freak.

_ Sherlock waited for Mycroft to resurface from behind the door that he barged through, Lestrade started to talk to some of the boys helping them to their feet, leading them out one by one to the officers outside; while Sherlock waited outside, feeling like a child waiting outside the headmaster's office. He feared if he moved his legs would buckle beneath him, but when he heard the sound of a fist colliding on skin, he was tempted to risk it. To turn and run and never look back. The door in his line of sight being thrown open, his eyes glanced over towards Mycroft clutching his jaw, a man he had never seen anyone raise a hand to, his invincible brother the man that was made of stone, and this lumbering giant had harmed him, making Sherlock feel even smaller. "My prized whore has returned. I knew you would miss it too much to stay away." The burly man approached slowly, commanding the space he walked through, his eyes not leaving Sherlock. Mycroft looked distressed, and for the first time in Sherlock's eyes, his brother was not in control. He was so distracted by the vulnerability Mycroft was exhibiting that he did not notice his old owner until he could feel his breath softly moving the hair on the back of his neck. It smelt of cigar smoke, whisky and sweat. He was the sort of man that liked to play with his toys as well as leaned them out; and Sherlock was always his favourite toy. Running his finger along the detective's check bones, he brought his lips close to his earlobe, "did you miss me Sherlock?" The detective did not answer, not that it mattered, as the man now slowly sucking on Sherlock's earlobes. "Or maybe you just realised you could never escape me." Sherlock tried to steady himself, he swallowed what felt like a pint of saliva; trying to make sure that his first statement to this was powerful, but it came as a raspy whisper, "I got rid of the tattoo, you don't own me anymore." He just chuckled, "if only you could say that with some conviction. You might be able to convince me that you believed what you were saying." His hand was now running through the detective's curls, making tears fill Sherlock's eyes. "No the truth is Sherlock, you will always be my whore, and tonight I will remind you of how much you enjoy it." The detective could feel his knees buckle, but Mycroft was beginning to regain composure, "if you think I'm going to leave him –" but he was interrupted "you take your fucking hands off him right now!" _

The moment John saw Lestrade he knew something was wrong. His facial expression alone made John prepare for fight, as he ran straight past the DI and into the building in front of him; where he was greeted with some old pervert pawing over his detective. He had never felt so protective of a man, a man that had never looked more vulnerable in all the years he knew him. "You take your fucking hands off him right now!" He felt every eye in the room fixed on him, every eye but Sherlock's; he kept his eyes focused on the floor. While John's entrance appeared to make Sherlock feel more ashamed, the old man did not show a flicker of remorse, he just smirked. "Is this your new owner, Sherlock?" His hands were still tracing Sherlock's body, one slowly moving down towards the detectives bum. "I said take your hands off him." He was now storming down the corridor, ignoring the distant groans coming from behind locked doors. The doctor pulled the hands that were now cupping the detectives but cheeks, off Sherlock's body. Grabbing the detective's arm he pulled him out of the way, so now John was standing between them both. Sherlock's eyes still fixed on the floor, but the smirk vanished from the pimps face. He took a step forward, but John stopped in his tracks, "I wouldn't do that if I was you." He reached round and pulled his gun from the back of his jeans, "your new owner is very possessive, didn't your mother ever tell you to share your toys?" "Did your mother ever tell you that people aren't possessions? Now if you don't mind I want to leave before the police come in and raid this building." Grabbing Sherlock's hand he started to pull him towards the exit, but stupidly he was so focused on Sherlock he did not realise that he was the only man with a gun; luckily he managed to duck before the first gunshot was fired. However, Sherlock was not so lucky, still too dazed to move out of the way in time. The bullet landing in his brother's shoulder was enough to spring Mycroft into action. Fighting in a way that John had never seen before, "John get him out of here, we'll handle it from here" and John had no objections to following those orders.

John had to support Sherlock the whole way back to the flat, and it did not stop there. John avoided the sofa and rushed Sherlock straight to the bathroom. Sitting him on the edge of the bath, he slowly edged his arm out of the sleeve to examine the bullet wound in his shoulder. He would have taken him straight to the hospital, but he knew Sherlock would have objected if he was not in such a passive state, and he thought somebody should respect Sherlock today. Settling on removing the bullet with a pair of tweezers, which he managed to surprisingly find in the bathroom cupboard. He did not speak while he worked, which did not seem to bother the detective, as he did not seem to up to conversation. Only once he was finished wrapping the detectives shoulder did Sherlock make any noise. For the first time in all the years John had known him, Sherlock started to cry; leaving John feeling useless, as the detective leant against him. He just stood there supporting Sherlock's weight, he wanted to comfort him, but he felt weary to touch him; he knew Sherlock would be sensitive to the slightest touch. "Sorry John." The detective's shoulders began to shake, as he pulled away from John and got up to leave. John guessed he was trying to hide away somewhere, but he could no longer bear the thought of Sherlock suffering alone, so just as he was about to reach the door, John pulled Sherlock into a hug, allowing Sherlock to cry on his shoulder.

_ For the first time since he was an infant, Sherlock Holmes was being held as he cried, and even though Sherlock felt like he should be ashamed, he did not. For that one moment he let himself forget about Mary, and that John was not really his, he just let himself pretend. He pretended that John wanted to be there, not just because he was a wonderful human being, but because he personally hated to see Sherlock so upset. He pretended that he deserved this care and sympathy, that he was not a whore, or a waste of space but a man that deserved John Watson's love. He pushed his forehead further into John's shoulder, and cried tears he believed he no longer possessed, and for two men that hardly ever exhibited any displays of physical affection they stood in the bathroom for nearly an hour. Remaining in the same spot as Sherlock cried and John rocked him in his arms. No more words were exchanged but the two men had never shared a more intermit moment. Then when Sherlock was emotionally drained, John led him to his bed, and to the detective's surprise John did not leave his side, instead he let the detective fall asleep in his arms. _


	6. 1 day left

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

Scenes of a sexual nature within the chapter

_Sherlock_

John

Around midday, John woke up feeling both refreshed and guilty, as he looked down at the sleeping detective in his arms. It was not as if they had done anything, he had just comforted a vulnerable friend, while having a peaceful night's sleep, something that he had not experienced for a long time. He knew he had to get out of bed, he guessed he had many missed messages that he should probably address, but he did not want to wake a very peaceful looking Sherlock, who was adorably snoring on his chest. The small tufts of air moving his curls ever so slightly, but when he started to stir slightly, John took it as his cue to move out of bed and move into the living room. He found his discarded jacket, and fished through the pockets to find his phone; as he expected he had several missed calls from Mary and Lestrade, and even one from Mycroft. He knew had to reply to them all, but he knew a phone call would not do the stories justice; so he dropped them all a quick text to let them know they were ok, and that he would explain later. Before he had the chance to move back towards the bedroom he was greeted by a very bemused looking Sherlock, walking through with a bed sheet wrapped around his waist. The detective ran his hand through his dishevelled looking curls, before forcing himself to look John in the eye, "Did anything ...?" John shook his head, "we both just slept." Smiling at each other for a moment, John the announced that he had to leave; and then he rushed out of the door, ruining the moment the two men had just shared.

_Sherlock__ was left feeling rather bemused, but not wanting to ponder on last night's events, he decided to focus instead on John's impending stag do. Despite everything that had happened recently, he had made sure his best man duties came first, because John came first, and after all it was the last night where it would be just the two of them. He sent a text to Molly to see if she had fulfilled her part of the organisation of the evening, in the hope that she would email him the necessary information, but Molly insisted he came to collect them. Obviously worried about him, she wanted to see him in person, which meant it was likely that more pity would be placed upon him. What a joy that was going to be, his shoulder ached as he moved, but despite the ache, he chuckled to himself. He would now have a matching scar with Dr John Watson, like a weird set of friendship tattoos. Easing himself of yesterdays clothing, he climbed under the shower, being careful to avoid getting his bandaged shoulder wet; he let the water soak away all the pain from yesterday. He stood there until the water started to run cold, and then for a bit longer, no yet wanting to face the day. Eventually he climbed out onto the wet bathroom tiles; knowing that if he waited much longer he would not get everything done in time, he rushed back into the bedroom to get changed._

_ He arrived at Barts hospital just gone two o'clock, and taking rather large strides he ran up the stairs and burst through the door to the morgue, to find one joyful looking Molly. She appeared busy so he thought he might be able to take the folder and leave, but she spotted him as his hand touched the file. Placing her hand on the folder so he could not move it she smiled up at him; but it was not a smile of pity, just the smile of someone who was genuinely pleased to see him, a smile he was still not used to. "How are you?" He tried to shake it off, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" He tried to force a smile onto his face, but Molly just sighed. "He might not be aware of what is going on Sherlock, but it is obvious to everyone else." Sherlock did his best to pretend he had not heard his comment, and instead pulled the folder from under her hand. "The beakers on the side by the fridge that stores food" nodding he went to collect them and leave, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun tonight." He was going to leave without saying anything, he was not sure how to put his gratitude into words, he hoped the "thank you" he muttered just before he turned completely and left was enough._

It was six o'clock and John was pacing along the pavement outside 221B, he knew Sherlock would be waiting for him, it would be the one time he was punctual, he had fulfilled his best man duties impeccably, and it was rather unsettling. After his abrupt exit earlier on, he was not sure if Sherlock would want to talk about it, and if he did, he was not sure how he should proceed. Taking a deep breath, and holding the suit bags up above the ground so they would not drag, he entered the flat. Sherlock was as he expected, ready and anxiously awaiting him on the sofa, his white shirt struggling to contain the physique he managed to achieve in the years they had spent apart. Judging by Sherlock's smug smile, the previous days were to be ignored, and tonight was purely about getting unbelievably drunk. Something he was more than happy to do right now. "Put the suits in the bedroom, we have a busy night ahead of us." John obeyed and within a few minutes, they were on the way to Northumberland Street to find a pub near their first crime scene together, a rather sentimental idea that was not lost on John. They started the evenly calmly and he tried to stick to Sherlock's measured alcohol consumption per pub, but three pubs in and he decided that his stag do, so screw being sensible. With every sensible beaker, he purchased a few shots for each man, and therefore, by the seventh pub it was clear that the men were not going to make it much further; and by nine o'clock they found themselves lying on the stairs at 221B. They lay there laughing at each other's stupid comments and the inability they both had to make it up a flight of stairs in one go. Mrs Hudson walked past and rolled her eyes, though John could tell she was happy to see her boys together for one last time.

_ Sherlock could feel his eyes drooping, something that always happened to him when he had too much drink, and as he rolled over to lean on John, he decided he did not want the night to end. He tried to make it up the rest of the stairs, clinging onto the banister for dear life, he half pulled half stumbled up the stairs, falling face first into the flat, his backside raised slightly in the air. The whole venture made him look like bambi, trying to learn to walk. Both men erupted with laughter simultaneously, laughing harder when they heard the other erupt. Slowly the detective raised himself on to his hands and knees, still giggling as he crawled over to the armchair and pulled himself face first onto it. By the time John got up the stairs, Sherlock was still trying to work out how to turn around in the arm chair, he looked like a cat that was trying to get comfortable, the sight of course caused John to snigger. The detective managed to work it out as John swayed in from the kitchen carrying a bottle of whisky and two mugs, he sounded so proud of himself as he exclaimed "look what I found" before filling the mugs to the half way point, and spilling a small amount onto the carpet. They both lunged for the mugs and clinked them before taking a large sip each, after all there was no point stopping now. _

John tried to steady himself, so he could sit down in the chair facing Sherlock. He was standing so close to the detective, that stumbling now would lead to an awkward situation perusing; but as he took a step back he fell over his own feet, and as he predicted, landed with his hand firmly planted on Sherlock's thigh, his eye line directly at Sherlock's crutch. He thought Sherlock would pull away instantly, swing his magnificently long legs, over the arm of the armchair and try to awkwardly change the subject, but instead he let forward, his legs openly slightly as he did. John's hands stayed fixed on Sherlock's thigh, too dazed to move, but Sherlock appeared to have a level of adrenaline shoot through him that sobered him up completely. His graceful movements returning to him, as he slowly placed his hand upon John's and squeezed, "It's ok John, I don't mind." John raised his head slowly, his eyes eventually locking on the eyes of a man that he had been in love with for all the years he had known him, and he was not sure if it was the alcohol or Sherlock's comment, but the next thing he knew he was slowly moving his head towards Sherlock's. He used his hand to softly guide Sherlock down to him, looking his face over for any signs of protest, but not seeing any he softly guided their lips together. However, the moment remained soft for few seconds, before Sherlock took control and pulled John deeper into the kiss. The detective ran his tongue over John's bottom lip, asking for entry that the doctor gave without hesitation, and then the younger man truly proved his expertise in this area. John had to eventually pull away to catch his breath, and it was only in this moment that he realised he was now straddling Sherlock's lap.

Panting slightly John rest his head on Sherlock's chest, his sense's now heightened, as he felt himself sober up as the adrenaline that was now rushed through him. "John ..." He could detect worry in his best friend's voice and so he decided to ease his concern with another kiss; a technique that appeared to work. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted by Sherlock, who without pausing for breath, placed John down on the opposite armchair, so John's legs were still wrapped around Sherlock's waist, leaving the doctor more exposed as Sherlock kneeled in front of him. He pulled his lips away from the detectives and was now seductively running them along the doctor's neck, causing John to through his head back. John could feel Sherlock lean over him; he could feel the detective's warm breath against his ear before he spoke, "I will if you want me to?" The detective started to place select kisses along the inside of John's thigh making him shudder. Pausing only slightly to look up at the doctor and wait for permission. "John?" It took John a moment to register Sherlock's words before he managed to nod his head and stutter out a "yes". Sherlock's movements were slow and precise, teasing John with an array of kisses and strokes as he slowly pulled down John's trousers and underwear; but it was not until Sherlock had wrapped his long fingers around the doctor's cock that John fully realised how badly he wanted this. He was sure that right now, he would let Sherlock do anything to him, and that was the last coherent thought he managed before Sherlock started quickly stroking him until he reached full capacity. He thought Sherlock was just going to jerk him off, so when he felt Sherlock's tongue slide slowly over his tip he did not know what hit him first surprise or ecstasy. John learnt about more of Sherlock's expertise that night, the detective's lips and tongue creating a sensation that John did not believe was humanly possible, and it wasn't long until John was dangerously close to the edge. Managing to remind himself how to from words, he managed to say Sherlock's name on an exhale in warning, but Sherlock did not pull away, he just nodded to show he knew what was coming before taking the length of a very hard John completely. He could not help but scream out Sherlock's name as he finally let go. Sherlock swallowed John completely before rising, causing John's legs to slide down his waist, so his feet were now resting on the floor. Sherlock leaned in to kiss John softly on the lips, before turning to move away.

John sensed what Sherlock was about to do, and decided he was having none of it. He reached out to grab the detectives hand and pull him back towards him. "Where do you think you're going?" Not giving him time to reply he pulled him back down for a kiss, tasting himself, as he explored Sherlock's mouth. When he finally pulled away he could see a small grin was forming on the detectives lips, something John wanted to encourage; so pulling him once more, he ushered Sherlock into his lap. Once the detective was seated, he rested his face in the crook of John's neck, tickling John with both the curls of his hair and the irregular exhale of his breath. John could feel the man tense in his arms. Trying to relax Sherlock, he placed a soft kiss on the man's soft curls, we wanted to be a less selfish lover and help satisfy his partner, but he knew this would be sensitive for him. Therefore he moved slowly, believing Sherlock was tense because he was scared of what was about to happen. He rested his hand over the man's crotch, the layers of fabric separating it, rubbing it slightly with his thumb. "It's ok John you don't have to." The doctor could sense the confusion in Sherlock's voice, and he removed his hand for a moment so he could cup Sherlock's cheek, drawing his head closer so their temples touched. "Do you think I would let you do that for me and then not return the favour?" He could feel himself beaming at the detective, everything else feeling irrelevant, but the detective still looked bewildered. "Honestly its okay, I'm used to..." and in that moment true realisation hit John, and he shoved his mouth on Sherlock, not letting the man finish his sentence.

"Sherlock, this is not what this is. I mean has no one ever..?" The detective shook his head, "so you've never?" John could feel his heart breaking slightly, as his eyes began to wheel up, maybe he had not sobered up as much as he thought. "If you are not including myself, then no, no one has ever" He presented this statement as a matter of fact, there was no pain or hurt present, like it was normal for him to be mistreated in such a way. John did not realise how far the abuse went, how they had made him believe he was not worthy of receiving pleasure. John kissed Sherlock one more time, softly, before placing his hand back over the man's crotch. "Do you want me to do this for you?" Sherlock seemed nervous when he nodded, and John knew this would have to be handled differently from anything else he had ever done. He so desperately wanted this moment to be pleasurable, a moment to teach Sherlock that sex could be enjoyable for him to, that he was allowed to enjoy himself. However, the doctor had never done this with a man before and was slightly out of his depth; so he decided to keep it simple, something that would make them both feel relaxed. He removed the layers that were constricting Sherlock's penis, before slowly wrapping his fingers around its length, stroking it softly; that already seemed to have an intense effect on the detective whose head was now back into the crook of John's neck. John could sense that his partner was biting his lip, trying to hold back, and he was pleased it was effective, but he was fully aware that he was not going to be able to provide him with the best possible experience while Sherlock straddled his lap. "Sherlock" his voice was soft, but it caused the detective sit bolt upright. He looked like he was on the verge of apologising, "you don't need to apologise, I just need you to –" he shifted Sherlock into a better position, so his back was now facing John, his arms now wrapped around Sherlock's waist, so his hands could meet the other man's prick.

_Since John had said his name, Sherlock had become tense once more. He did not want John to stop, but he was so fearful of upsetting him. John had already given him so much already, more than he would have ever dreamed of. John begun to place soft kisses along his spine and the small of his back. He wanted to lean back into the doctor so badly, to feel himself being supported by him, no longer having to think just feel, but he restrained himself. He bit down on his lip instead, his preferred method of distracting himself. Though he had never had to do it so much, he could taste the coppery blood forming on his lips, and he tried to lick it away so John wouldn't see, he already must of thought that Sherlock was mad, mad and damaged, scarred both inside and out. John however was an extremely observant lover, and as he, tensed John leaned over to talk to him. His voice was soft, yet demanding, and it sent shivers along Sherlock's smile."Lean against me" The detective did as he was told, it was easier for him to follow orders at the moment. He was only going to lean softly though, so their skin barely touched, but John pulled him back so all of his weight was being supported by the doctor beneath him. John tilted Sherlock's face so they could kiss, but the detective turned away not wanting John to taste the blood, that was leaking from his lips. So instead, the doctor started to trace little kisses along his throat and jaw line, until he reached Sherlock's lips and licked the blood away. "You are my drug, and I don't care how messed up you think you are, because in my eyes you will always be perfect" he then placed one last kiss on his throat, "so you don't need to hide your beautiful voice" and with that he placed his hands back around the detectives prick and began to stroke slowly again. Sherlock choosing to believe every word John just said, finally let go. Arching his back, he let out every groan that reached his throat. His ear was resting just beside John's mouth, giving the doctor the perfect opportunity to whisper encouragements into his lover's ear, while softly kissing his check. John began to pick up the pace of his strokes, varying them between long strokes and short sharp tugs and it wasn't long until Sherlock was calling John's name in a way of warning, but John just tugged harder in a way of acknowledgement and Sherlock was left screaming John as he covered his shirt._

Both men sat there for a moment, catching their breath; before Sherlock swung himself back around. His back was now resting against the arm of the chair, as he lent against John's chest, allowing John to hold him close. John wiped his hand softly on the detective's shirt as a way of cleaning it before he began to stroke Sherlock's hair, as he felt tears role down the detective's cheeks, causing the doctor's shirt to become damp. "Thank you" was all Sherlock managed to whisper, and John began to wonder when Sherlock had become so emotional, or maybe John was now just trusted enough to see it. He placed his hand under Sherlock's chin, and guided his face up so he could now look him in the eyes; he kissed every tear that was rolling down Sherlock's cheek, before kissing his lips once more. This is the moment, where John wanted to tell Sherlock he loved him, it didn't matter anymore if the detective did not love him back, he wanted Sherlock to know that he was loved, and who knew maybe after the night's events it wouldn't completely ruin their friendship. "I-" but just as he was about to, for the first time that evening he remembered Mary, "I'm getting married tomorrow." As soon as the word's left his mouth he regretted them, especially as it made Sherlock jump out of his lap and rush to get changed, "I'm so sorry John –" In that moment Sherlock put his barriers back up, his tears drying up almost instantly; and John knew he had just ruined an almost perfect evening , his opportunity to reveal his feelings to the detective, now gone forever, "- no Sherlock, you don't have to be sorry. I wanted that just as much, hell I probably wanted it more than you, I just –" The two men looked at each other for the last time that night, "I know John, and that's why I'm sorry. Now you better go to bed, you've got a busy day tomorrow." Sherlock smiled, but John could tell it was forced, so John forced a smile back before he walked off alone to his old bedroom , leaving Sherlock watching his as he went.


	7. The Wedding Day

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

_Sherlock and John exchanged nothing but awkward pleasantries in the morning, both silently deciding to not discuss the events of the night before; the only time they looked each other directly in the eye was when John helped Sherlock fix his tie. Mrs Hudson detected the unrest when she entered the flat to wish John good luck, Sherlock just claimed it was nerves, "after all Mrs Hudson, it is a big day." Both men tried to fake a smile to reassure her, but she still seemed unconvinced, "whatever you say dear." Sherlock left John talking to Mrs Hudson, before slipping into his bedroom to call his brother, normally his brothers snide comments would rile him up the wrong way, but he needed to remind himself how to detach, so he could make it through the day. Just long enough to make sure he did not ruin everything for John. Mycroft picked up after the second ring of the phone, "Sherlock, what a nice surprise, and what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call." There was a sense of alarm being suppressed in his voice, though the underlining sarcasm was present as always, and Sherlock appreciated that, Mycroft always tried to hide his pity and worry, he always managed to treat Sherlock like an annoying younger brother no matter what the situation. "Just wanted to check that you weren't going to show up today" it was a pathetic answer, but he had nothing he wanted to say, he just wanted to hear his brothers voice, "I thought that maybe Lestrade had changed your mind." He could hear his brother sigh at the end of the phone, "not that it is any of your concern, but there is nothing that man could do to get me to a wedding. It is an entire waste of time." Now Sherlock knew that Mycroft was lying, but he did not press him for an answer, instead he made a comment that he knew was completely uncalled for, "but he can get you to use a treadmill". There was a long pause before Mycroft replied, Sherlock thought he had hung up, but he did not want to check, because if Mycroft was no longer on the phone he would have to go and face the wedding. Luckily, Mycroft spoke up, "I warned you not to get involved dear brother, sentiment is always present on the losing side." He paused for a moment longer, and Sherlock sensed his brother was trying to phrase something, that they were again on the verge of having a heart to heart, but instead he just finished with a "good luck" before hanging up the phone. After all the Holmes, boys did not have heart to hearts. _

John was pacing outside Sherlock's room waiting for him to reappear. He was beginning to panic that the man had had second thoughts about being his best man, that he would have to face the day without Sherlock, and that terrified him; but as this thought occurred he could hear Sherlock's bedroom door open and the detective emerge from within. He turned around to face him slowly, and he looked at him he felt his heart stop momentarily. Sherlock looked so unbelievingly beautiful, and he wondered if he would feel this way when he saw Mary later today, or was this feeling reserved for only one moment in your life. A moment when you see the person you love and for a split second every fear you have disappears; unfortunately it was just not the person he was due to marry making him feel this way. "Come on John, you don't want to be late for your own wedding." He could sense that Sherlock was forcing the smile upon his face once more, that today was going to be a day filled with false smiles, but he appreciated the man's effort and while resisting the urge to take the man's hand, they left the flat and climbed into the vintage car waiting to take them to the church.

_Sherlock could not bring himself to look at John the whole drive to the church, instead he stared at the passing scenery, while trying to control his heart rate. He placed his hand on his top pocket and confirmed for the tenth time that morning that he had the rings, before placing his sweaty palms back together. They arrived at the church with plenty of time to spare and as John greeted some of the guests, Sherlock watched in the distance, wondering what it would be like if this was their wedding, and John's radiant smile was being caused by the prospect of spending the rest of his life with Sherlock. He had to banish this thought quickly, as the guests piled into the church, followed by a nervous looking John, who hesitated at the doors. "Sherlock" it was the first time John had spoken to him directly all morning, "am I doing the right thing?" He looked up at the detective for guidance, and Sherlock was puzzled as to why he thought Sherlock would be good at this type of advice, but ignoring his breaking heart he asked the question he did not want to hear the answer to, "do you love Mary?" John sighed, "yes, but-" "-then that is your answer." He did not want to hear John say anymore on the matter, so he carried on speaking, for the first time being partly honest with John when it was too late, "despite the limited knowledge I have on the matter, I do know that when you love someone, everything else becomes a secondary priority. So let's get you married."_

The few seconds John stood there waiting for Mary felt like a lifetime, and as the church doors opened and she began to walk down the aisle, a radiant smile upon her face, John felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Mary did look beautiful in her dress, and her smile looked so genuine but John realised that he was going to have to look at that genuine smile for the rest of his life without ever really being able to return it. He was not sure if he could live with that, he could feel his heart beat increasing as he began to enter a deeper state of panic. He did not want to settle for the rest of his life, and Mary deserved better than this, better than being settled for; but what could he do he could think of no way out, so instead he took Mary's hand and steadied himself. Maybe this was just what cold feet were, or at least that is what he hoped. As the priest started to talk, he could sense that Sherlock was fidgeting behind him, he knew he was uncomfortable, just as uncomfortable as John was. Just as the priest asked if anyone had any reason why they should not be married, he remembered what Sherlock had said just before they entered the church, "_when you love someone, everything else becomes a secondary priority." _ He couldn't go through with it, one quick glance over at Sherlock and he started to run down the aisle; not even turning to face Mary when she called out his name.

_ Sherlock was left standing with a very confused Mary, and he knew he needed to help John through this, because John wanted this, he deserved this. All this confusion was Sherlock's fault, if he had just controlled himself. He shouldn't have done what he did last night, and now this was his punishment for being so selfish, having to convince John back up the aisle was going to kill him, but he had to do it. He leaned over to Mary, "I'll go and see what's wrong. His probably just nervous." The words felt artificial in his mouth, he knew this was providing Mary no comfort, but he had to try, he had to try to fix this, and so he smiled at her before he ran out of the church after John. Sherlock was relieved to be hit with a gentle breeze as he stepped outside, he could feel himself getting hot underneath his collar, and the breeze managed to cool him down momentarily. His eyes looked around the church yard trying to spot John, who was now sitting on the wall that ran around the church. He was looking out into the road and therefore did not notice Sherlock approaching, and as a result he did not have time to hide his tears from the detective. Sherlock knew that John did not want to talk at this moment, he probably wanted to be left alone completely but unfortunately there was no time for that; so instead he hoisted himself up on the wall next to John and tried to think of a way to calm the doctor down, so he would not ruin his wedding day._

John knew that the best way to deal with the situation would be to get it over with quickly; regretting the length of time he had left this unsaid, and he knew the timing was inappropriate, but he turned to Sherlock anyway; "I can't go through with this –" but Sherlock did not seem to understand why John left. Why John was now sitting on the wall outside the church with him, when he should be saying his wedding vows, "-of course you can John, just go back in there and apologise. Mary loves you, she will understand –" he placed his hand over the detectives, knowing it would get him to stop speaking, "will you just listen to me for a minute Sherlock, before you make assumptions." He nodded, signalling to the doctor that he should continue, "I was thinking about what you said earlier, about when you love someone, and ..." he braced himself for what he was about to say, knowing once he said it there was no going back, their friendship would be over, but he had to say it anyway, he had to hope. "I can't go through with this because I am in love with you" and it was at that moment he realised that Mary had also followed him out of the church, "John?"

Dr Watson knew at that point that he was a shit person. He realised it at many points of his life, but it was at this point that the thought was most prominent. Here he was, on his wedding day, confessing his love to another man, with whom he had cheated with, as his loving wife to be, watched on. He knew nothing he could say, would make this moment okay, but as Mary charged over at him with rage in her eyes; he knew he had to try. Jumping off the wall, he faced Mary waiting for the attack he was rightly about to receive, but her anger evaporated; her eyes wheeled up and her voice cracked as she spoke, "for how long?" He was surprised by the question and therefore stumbled over his answer, "I don't know ... I –" She now had tears of frustration pouring down her cheeks, "Don't give me that crap John I deserve to know." He tried to move closer to her, to hug her an instinct that he had developed, "Mary I do still care about you, I'm sorry –" just as he was about to reach her she pulled away, "don't you fucking dare, don't you fucking dare try to make this easier on yourself. You waited until the middle of our wedding service before you decided to drop this fucking bombshell..." and with that, her rage returned and she slapped him, across the face, her engagement ring increasing the pain. However, clearly she was not satisfied, as she punched him continually on the chest, and he just stood there and let her. He knew he deserved every punch she threw, so when Sherlock got down from the wall to stop her, he just shook his head and let Mary continue until her rage was gone, and she was left crying into his suit jacket.

"I guess I'm to blame, I knew you were in love with him the moment I met you, but I thought he was dead, but then he came back, and I knew I had lost you, yet I didn't let you go. I knew all of this, and yet I would have married you in the knowledge that you would be unhappy." John pulled Mary away from him at that moment and looked straight into her eyes, "none of this is your fault." She smiled weakly before handing him her engagement ring, "you shouldn't have to settle" he took the ring back off her, "you deserve better than being settled for" and with that she walked away, without looking back. John stared down at the ring, he felt both guilty and relieved. He was free. "John, you shouldn't have done that. You just ruined the best thing that ever happened to you. I'm a mess –" John rolled his eyes, for such an intelligent man, he was very slow on the uptake. Filled with a new found confidence, he had nothing else to lose, and so he wrapped his hand around the back of the detective's neck, and pulled him into a kiss. A kiss John hoped would convey everything to Sherlock, and then before the detective could catch his breath, John conveyed what he was feeling once more; "you are the best thing that has ever happened to me".

It was Sherlock's continued silence that made him realise that Sherlock might not feel the same way, after all, all he had done since he got out of the shirt was try and convince him to stay with Mary; and he was now just standing there staring at John. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. "Say something Sherlock." "Is this just because of last night, because –" the doctor took the other man's hand in his and started to trace patterns across his palm. "It has everything, and nothing to do with last night. It's just when you love someone, everything else becomes a secondary priority." He was still trying to get his point to register with the detective, to get some form of response from the man. "Shall we go home now?" John laughed relieved at Sherlock's comment, "I'll call a taxi" "and I'll go an explain to your guests that the groom has decided he would rather shack up with the best man." John gave his hand a squeeze, "though maybe be phrase it a little differently" he then kissed the detective, an activity that he would never get bored of, before they momentarily separated. John watched Sherlock walk back towards to the church, a spring in his step, before the man stopped and turned around to face John, as if he was checking to see if John was still there, to assure himself that it was not a dream or a cruel joke. To assure his boyfriend, he smiled at that thought, he ran towards him and planted another kiss on his lips. "Yes this is real life, you lucky thing." They laughed sweetly together, feeling truly contented for the first time in two years.


	8. The Wedding Night

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, I just felt inspired by them so I borrowed them a bit with every intention of giving them back. There may be loose accidental references to the 'sign of three', but nothing solid. This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

John could not stop himself from smiling; it was as if he had slept with a hanger in his mouth. The stresses from earlier in the day had vanished and now he was sitting in the back of a cab holding Sherlock Holmes's hand, watching the detective stare out at the changing landscape as they moved closer to London. John, however, thought the view outside the cab was not as beautiful as the view he was allowed to stare at on the inside. He watched the smile flicker on the detectives face, the sparkle in his eyes, the strength of his jaw and the curl of his hair; and as Sherlock glanced over he did not have to look way, he could just keep staring, the smile not faltering from his face. He lifted Sherlock's hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly, making the detective blush as the cabbie looked at them through the reflection in his mirror. As they began to pull up outside 221B, John was already fiddling around for his wallet, so he could pay the driver quickly. He paid by throwing a note at the cabby and not waiting for the change. Both John and Sherlock raced up the stairs and into the flat, John slamming the door behind him. Which was then followed by him slamming Sherlock up against that same door; kissing him with a different type of intensity, and at first Sherlock kissed back with the same amount of force, but as John began to move his hands further down Sherlock's back, the detective began to tense, until he pulled away completely,

_ He felt slightly foolish for being so prudish about the situation, but as the doctors hands got lower Sherlock became aware of what was expected, and that John would see him naked. Now he knew this thought was completely illogical, John had seen him naked before on several occasions, as a doctor and a friend; but Sherlock had never been aware of John observing him. Even on John's stag night, Sherlock had not been aware of how John saw him; and now everything was intensified, it was not just a physical act anymore, and Sherlock was truly out of his depth. John would see how repulsive he was, he was covered in so many hidden scars, scars he did not want John to observe; and even though all of this was idiotic, he felt too uncomfortable to continue. John looked carefully at Sherlock's face, analysing it, and as he ran his hand other Sherlock's cheek, kissing his lips softly, he pulled away. "It's okay." He turned and walked over to the sofa, and for a brief moment, Sherlock truly believed that he had mucked it all up, that he had just lost everything he had ever wished for; but then John spoke. "Are you going to stand there all day?" He smile was warm and kind and his posture inviting, and Sherlock's worry was diminished. He sat down next to John, resting his head on the doctors shoulder, and curling his feet to his chest, "I'm sorry John" his voice was barely a whisper. John ran his hand his hand along the detective's arm. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn't have assumed." He kissed him softly on the temple. "Though there is one thing you could do for me-" Sherlock sat bolt upright, "John I-" John interrupted him, "you deprived me of my first dance, and after all the hard work we put into it. Well it would be a shame if all of that work was for nothing." He relaxed immediately, and climbed off the sofa, walking over to the I-pod dock, hitting play and ushering his hand towards John. "May I have this dance, Doctor Watson." John stood up, and placed his hand in Sherlock's, "why of course, Mr Holmes" and then pulling the detective closer to him, he whispered in his ear, "after all, this was always our dance, wasn't it."_

The two men moved slowly together, every move matching the music perfectly. They were perfectly in sync, as always; only this time John could rest his head on Sherlock's chest and listen to his heartbeat without crossing any social boundaries. He felt Sherlock relax into his arms with every step, and he started to slowly stroke Sherlock's back, in an attempt to massage out every insecurity, every doubt; to assure him that he was loved in spite of them all. "You do realise I think your scars make you more beautiful." He lifted his head, to look at the man's beautiful eyes, "they show your strength." He then kissed the nape of his neck, softly, still trying to release the man's tension. Not an attempt to change his opinion but reassure him that everything was okay; he never wanted to force Sherlock into anything, especially sex. He vowed to himself that every experience Sherlock had with sex from now on would be positive and enjoyable, and he knew it was a promise he could make, because he knew he would never leave this man's side. He would take care of him until death made them part. He might have made the vows silently to himself, but at least he made those vows today. After all, he had intended to make them to someone.

_John and Sherlock danced long after the song finished, rocking slowly as Sherlock sweetly hummed the melody in John's ear; both men feeling complete, supporting each other, so that no man could have stayed upright without the other. Sherlock's back was slightly arched allowing him to rest his head on John, while the doctor lent into him. He was still aware of himself, every scar and imperfection, but for some reason they did not bother John. John was okay with Sherlock being a mess, and for the first time it made Sherlock believe that one day he could be okay about it. He began to hope that one day he would see himself as John saw him, or at least understand why John saw him that way; and for now, this hope provided him with a happiness he had never experienced. He was slowly drifting to a peaceful bliss when he heard John's stomach rumble. It was only then that he realised that John hadn't eaten all day, and he could not remember the last time he had consumed food. Reluctantly, the detective pulled out of what was now an embrace, "hungry?" John smiled up at him "starving." Then kissing the doctors hand, he told him to go and get changed, "I know the perfect place" and with a quick wink he bounded up the stairs to go and get ready himself. After all, he did not want to wear his wedding suit for their first date. _

~Finished~

Thank you for persevering with this, and all your kind comments. I hope you enjoyed it


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